Chapter Twenty Three
Author's pov;
After the prayer ceremony, Ria's body felt as though it were carrying a mountain.
Each step back to her room was a drag, her ornate lehenga whispering against the marble floors like chains that bound her down.
She shut the door behind her with a quiet thud and leaned against it, eyes closing for a moment.
Strangely, no tears came. Not today. Not after the endless taunts.
She had expected them, braced herself the moment the sun had risen.
But exhaustion - not sorrow - weighed her down.
She was tired. Tired of every laugh laced with mockery.
Tired of being told how a wife should act, when her own husband made it painfully clear she was never truly his wife at all.
She whispered to herself, "I will get through this. I will not bend."
But even the sound of her own voice failed to convince her.
Ria dragged herself into the closet and slipped out of the suffocating lehenga.
She chose a light, simple kurti - a soft blush-pink with delicate embroidery at the sleeves.
It wasn't loud, but it had a quiet elegance, the kind of beauty that didn't scream but whispered.
After reapplying a thin gloss to her lips, she grabbed her handbag.
She smiled faintly to herself, a whisper escaping her lips:
"I can't wait to see you again, Maa. .. Paa... Siya... Maasi..."
Her heart found comfort in those words as she left the room.
Downstairs, Aavyan's voice pulled her back to reality.
"Ria."
She turned, soft and polite. "Yes, bhaiya?"
Aavyan hurried up to her, his eyes flicking between his watch and her face. "I'm sorry to stop you. Are you going out?"
"Yes, to visit my family," she answered gently.
He exhaled in relief before extending a file toward her. "I hate to ask this, but... can you drop this off to Aansh? I have an urgent meeting at one of our restaurants, and he has a critical one at the company in an hour."
Ria's chest tightened at the name. Aansh.
The last encounter replayed like a wound reopening. She hesitated, eyes falling on the file in his hand. "Can't the staff-"
"No," Aavyan cut in quickly. "This file is too important. I would have gone myself, but I can't."
She opened her mouth to refuse again, but his pleading eyes stopped her.
"Please, Ria. I wouldn't have asked if it wasn't necessary."
The weight of his words silenced her resistance. "...Okay," she whispered, taking the file.
Aavyan's smile of relief barely registered in her mind. The file in her hands felt heavier than it should have been. As he left, Ria stared at it for a long moment.
"There's no escaping him now," she breathed.
---
The car ride to Rathore Corporation was torture.
Her fingers fiddled with her dupatta, sweat gathering at her temples.
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.
"Relax, Ria. You're not going into the lion's den," she tried consoling herself.
But she knew better. A lion devoured with instinct. Aansh destroyed with precision.
When the car finally stopped in front of the towering building, Ria's breath caught. She dismissed the driver, assuring him she'd get a cab later, though her voice wavered. Alone now, she clutched the file tighter and walked in.
The receptionist on this floor was polite enough, directing her to the 150th floor.
The elevator doors closed, trapping her with her thoughts.
With each floor the numbers climbed, her chest constricted further.
Her palms grew clammy. The ding of the 150th floor felt like the toll of a bell at an execution.
The office floor was... extraordinary. Every corner breathed wealth, sophistication, power. Yet the muted colors, the perfection of every angle screamed him. Cold. Untouchable. Merciless.
She knocked on the heavy door labeled CEO. Silence.
Again. No response.
Hesitant, she pushed it open.
The office was vast, the city sprawling beneath the glass walls. She stepped further inside, almost forgetting why she came. The sheer expanse of the view was dizzying. She whispered under her breath, "Of course. He would choose a room like this. Cold. Beautiful. Empty."
Her fingers brushed against the sleek desk, the leather chair, the perfectly ordered bookshelves. She didn't notice the door opening. Didn't hear the sound of footsteps approaching.
Until her back hit something solid.
Her brows furrowed. There wasn't a wall here.
The faint scent-intoxicating and maddeningly familiar-froze her blood. Her lips parted in horror. She didn't need to turn around to know.
Aansh.
Panic surged through her veins. She bolted, placing the file hurriedly on his desk, making for the door.
But he was faster.
In two strides, his hand clamped around her wrist. His grip was merciless as he yanked her back, slamming her against the wall. Her eyes screwed shut, her lips trembling. She could barely breathe.
"Open. Your. Eyes." His voice was sharp, commanding.
Her lashes fluttered, unwilling but obeying. Those blue eyes bore into her, cold and endless. They held no warmth. No soul. Only danger.
"Why are you here?"
Her throat went dry. "A... Aavyan... gave me the file," she stammered, words tumbling in a rush.
His gaze flicked to the desk, then back to her trembling form. She had closed her eyes again. His jaw tightened.
"Look. At. Me. When. I'm. Talking. To. You."
Her eyes snapped open again, tears threatening to spill.
"Let me go," she whispered, voice shaking but audible.
His lips curved - not into a smile, but a cruel twist. "You really play your act well, don't you?
" His grip tightened, her hiss of pain feeding his fury.
"The innocent wife, the trembling lamb. How long do you think this act will fool anyone?
Drop it. Because beneath it-" he leaned in, his breath brushing her ear- "you're nothing but a gold-digger who landed the Rathore name.
Don't test my patience pretending otherwise. "
Her tears slipped. But her reply came soft, wounded, true.
"I never wanted this." Her voice cracked. "Not your name. Not your hate. If this is an act, then it's one I never chose. You think I'm a gold digger? Then you know nothing about me, Aansh Rathore."
For the first time, his composure flickered. Just a fraction. But he crushed it quickly with a smirk. Her truth didn't matter to him.
He released her suddenly, violently, the force making her stumble. He hated tears - hated how women used them like weapons.
"You..." she gasped, wiping her face, "...you are the most selfish person I have ever met."
His head snapped up at her words.
"Yes, Mr. Aansh Rathore." She met his gaze despite her trembling. "And I hope... this ego you carry like a crown doesn't end up destroying you."
Her words weren't screamed. They were whispered - but they cut deeper than any shout. Not because they insulted him, but because they spoke a truth he refused to hear.
He advanced again, towering over her, his hand seizing her chin. His voice was poison.
"When a lamb mistakes courage for wisdom and dares speak before the devil... she doesn't survive. She burns. She bleeds. And she is destroyed before she even realizes she was never meant to fight."
His eyes bore into hers, unflinching, cruel.
"Now... get the fuck out of my office."
The roar of his voice thundered through the walls. She flinched violently, finally tearing herself free. With shaking legs and a shattered chest, she ran - the sound of her sobs echoing against the cold perfection of his office as she disappeared through the door.
Aansh stood there, jaw tight, his own chest heaving. He turned toward the city view, but her trembling voice lingered like a curse.
"I hope this ego doesn't destroy you..."
For the first time in years, his reflection in the glass felt like a stranger staring back.
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